


Sleep With Both Eyes Open

by umadoshi (Ysabet)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Adopted Sibling Incest, Canon Disabled Character, Coping Mechanisms, F/M, POV Female Character, POV First Person, some spoilers (see notes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9315209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/pseuds/umadoshi
Summary: As either a concession to my scruples or a sign of how eager he was to get the hell out into the open air with someone other than a security detail, Shaun put on an almost-reasonable amount of protective gear without my having to say a word. I did the only appropriate thing in response: while he fidgeted, I went back to my computer, pulled up our shared calendar, and entered "PIGS FLEW" on the current date.He opened his mouth to protest, and I shook my head. "Not a word, or tomorrow morning I have a new blog post about my dashing Irwin brother finally learning some common sense in his old age," I said, which earned me a glower that suggested Shaun couldn't decide whether "common sense" or "old age" was more offensive.In which Georgia and Shaun take a fleeting break from the horrific workload and stress about two-thirds intoFeed.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cantarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantarina/gifts).



> \--Title from Dessa's "Warsaw"
> 
> \--Beta work by wildpear
> 
> \--Set roughly between chapters 22-23 of _Feed_. Includes **mid-book spoilers.**

Halfway into our two-week stay in Houston, Shaun and I dragged ourselves out of our hotel room to put in an appearance at dinner with whichever members of Ryman's people were managing to eat on a regular schedule that day. That didn't include Ryman himself, unfortunately, who was dealing with his own grief and a workload as heavy as ours. There were things we needed to discuss with him, but nothing that could go through an intermediary.

The public appearance was probably a mistake. Shaun and I were edgy as wet cats and so tired I was scared one of us would pass out at the table without work to keep us focused--or as close to focused as we were managing lately, with the debilitating exhaustion.

Rick, who'd spent more time with us than everyone else put together since Buffy's death, took care to sit near us and make sure we kept up something resembling conversation. If he noticed that we were literally staying awake by kicking each other under the table, he didn't say anything.

He'd been doing a lot of not saying anything lately, refraining from comment on either how much of the day-to-day work we were handing off to him or the questionable methods we were using to keep ourselves moving. It couldn't have been an ideal state of affairs for him, but any energy Shaun and I might have spared for caring about that was energy we desperately needed elsewhere.

We held out at dinner until after Shaun had something like six hotel-sized cups of coffee, which _might_ be enough to keep him awake until his sixth or seventh wind--I'd lost count--kicked in. We were supposed to go through Ryman's staff for anything we needed, since our bloated security escort meant we couldn't just go pick anything up, and I wasn't looking forward to asking for yet another heap of caffeine pills to supplement my Coke intake. When it was painkillers we needed we could chalk it up to my migraines; there was no disguising what the caffeine was for.

At least when we were alone in our room, we didn't have to keep up a pretense. After dinner Shaun locked us in and took a look around to make sure no one had been there in our absence, and I dry-swallowed two more pills and grabbed my laptop.

Work kept me somewhat distracted from the awfulness of our situation, but none of what needed doing was the kind of work that could do the same for Shaun. He was pulling his weight, but he had to channel his manic energy into other things on the side. Tonight that meant he'd managed to be at his computer for an hour before he needed a change of pace, which meant--this time--forcing himself to stay conscious and semi-focused by doing an obscene number of push-up sets.

It hurt to look at him. It was also distracting on several levels: I couldn't help keeping count for at least a while every time he started over, and it made me queasy to know he was probably on the way to working out until he puked from sheer exhaustion, which might be easier on his body in the long run than punching walls was, but still sucked.

And then there was the simple fact that he had his shirt off, making me acutely aware of how long it had been since I'd admired him up close.

Even without his "help", my focus was shot. I like to think that I can keep myself working at the computer indefinitely if I really have to, but it's just not true. So I peeled myself grudgingly away from my "office" and crouched down beside him.

"You know you've done over three hundred push-ups in the last hour, right?"

"Really?" He shoved himself back to sit on his heels and started rolling his shoulders, testing for soreness. The motion was smooth enough to color my appreciation with a pang of envy. My own upper-body strength wasn't exactly at its peak, but even at my best, it's on the terrible side.

"At _least_ three hundred. That's only the ones I counted, and in case you hadn't noticed, I've been trying to work. You're distracting me, jerk." I couldn't resist leaning in to kiss him, tasting the sweat on his upper lip, the bitter bite of coffee that was omnipresent lately.

He had the sense not to reach for me; we both knew if he did I'd latch on to him in turn and then we'd be more distracted than was safe when Rick could come back from his assignment any minute. Shaun wasn't shy about kissing me back, though, mouth open and inviting under mine. I would have teased him for the hungry, dissatisfied noise he made when I pulled away, if I hadn't been making the same sound. It felt like weeks since we'd been in bed together except to sleep; it felt like forever since we'd had a good night's sleep at all, never mind together. I wasn't sure which I wanted more.

"Let's go for a ride," I said.

"On the bike?" he asked. "Are you good to drive?"

"Yeah. I'm more wired than falling down right now, and miracle of miracles, my head's only pounding a little."

Shaun frowned, concerned. "You haven't been out on it since we--since the trip from Oklahoma City." Not since my tire was shot out from under me. Not since Buffy's death.

"I'm good," I said. "We won't be able to escape without bodyguards anyway, so all I have to do is keep us on the road, right?" I kissed him again, and this time he did catch hold of me, cupping my face in his hands. "I can do that."

"It makes me nervous when you're the reckless one," he said, kissing me between words. "What if you steal my job?"

"Believe me, I don't want your job." I feigned a shudder as I stood. "Are we going?"

"You bet your ass." He scrambled up after me. "Want me to let Rick know?"

"Thanks." Having our one on-site staff member freak out because we'd vanished wasn't anywhere near the _last_ thing we needed, but it wouldn't do anyone any good. Plus we'd been making Rick's life more hellish than any of the three of us were admitting, leaving so much of the day-to-day campaign coverage to him; we owed him whatever consideration we could muster.

As either a concession to my scruples or a sign of how eager he was to get the hell out into the open air with someone other than a security detail, Shaun put on an almost-reasonable amount of protective gear without my having to say a word. I did the only appropriate thing in response: while he fidgeted, I went back to my computer, pulled up our shared calendar, and entered "PIGS FLEW" on the current date.

He opened his mouth to protest, and I shook my head. "Not a word, or tomorrow morning I have a new blog post about my dashing Irwin brother finally learning some common sense in his old age," I said, which earned me a glower that suggested Shaun couldn't decide whether "common sense" or "old age" was more offensive. "You know security better than I do. Any chance they'll just let us go?"

"No way in hell. You think I haven't been trying?"

"To be fair, you've been going zombie-baiting, and all I want to do now is go for an unscheduled ride."

"Still. No way. And they've got guards on our vehicles, so there's no sneaking out."

Security, it turned out, tried to put up a fight. We didn't make it out until we'd showed off our body armor, listed what weapons we had on us, and agreed we wouldn't try to ditch the one-car escort. Only that last really chafed. Not that I'd had any intention of trying--I'm not Shaun--but being obliged to _say_ it made me mad enough to spit. I stayed civil, barely, by reminding myself that Shaun was friendly with some of them and they were all people he'd have to work with closely every day for the rest of the campaign.

But when we were finally on the road it was worth every bit of aggravation, even given that the escort meant we had to stay _on_ the road. My bike was in flawless condition after its recent repair job, we had a full tank of gas, and it was a gorgeous night. I'm as nervous about being out after dark as anyone else who has a healthy respect for the undead, rather than an unreasonable fear of them--my night vision is a match for a zombie's, but that really only means I'm at a slightly smaller disadvantage than most people--but I can still appreciate the beauty of it.

The highway was completely empty once we hit it, and for once Shaun seemed content to just sit behind me and hang on, shifting his weight easily with mine to keep the bike balanced. The armor meant I couldn't really feel _him_ , and the wind in our faces meant I didn't even have the warmth of his breath on my neck, but it was fine. We were together and we were flying, the road so straight in front of us that I could floor it as hard as I wanted. I was more awake than I'd been in days, and Shaun was right there. For at least a little while, that was enough to let me imagine that things might possibly be okay.

I brought us to a halt an hour out of the city, at a spot where the barricaded highway had been widened to give people a place to pull over if they needed. Shaun waved to our escort, signaling them to give us some space; they obliged by parking their vehicle a good hundred feet away.

"Do they trust you that much?" I asked after our helmets were off. "Or are they scared you'll lead them to their deaths next time they have to go into the field with you if they don't cooperate?"

"Maybe both." He stretched as he got off the bike. "Wait here a sec." He loped over to the car, conferred, and came back to me. Behind him, the engine revved back to life long enough for the driver to re-park the car facing away from us. That was better for everyone: they got to keep their headlights on, and it meant the only light I had to deal with was the street lights overhead.

It also gave us an illusion of privacy, although of course the guards could easily watch us through the rear-view mirrors or window. Shaun sat down on the asphalt, back against the barrier, utterly at ease at the side of a highway in the middle of nowhere. It was already such a horror movie waiting to happen that it being night made virtually no difference. The contrasting calm on his face made me laugh a little as I sat beside him.

"I haven't heard you laugh in a while," he said. I shrugged and leaned into him, pressing our shoulders and thighs together. "You picked a nice night to go stir-crazy."

"I try."

He slung an arm around my shoulders, pulling me even closer against his side. I didn't resist. Out in the field I let him make the calls unless I have a compelling reason not to. That included trusting his judgment about whether our babysitters would either look at or care about what we were doing, as long as we weren't being attacked. "I miss you," he said.

Other than when he headed out to hunt zombies (and put his security detail in fear for their lives), we'd been practically crawling over each other for weeks. I still knew exactly what he meant.

I let my head fall onto his shoulder, trying not to think of how hard it would be to lift it again when we inevitably had to make our way back to the hotel.

"I miss you too."


End file.
